


Tales of the Starbound Glory

by tcr



Category: Original Work, pirates - Fandom
Genre: Age of Sail, Anal Fingering, Death, Double Penetration, F/F, Female Protagonist, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Pirates, Rimming, Vaginal Fingering, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-06-27 03:20:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19782181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tcr/pseuds/tcr
Summary: A series of monthly prompts around the pirate crew of the Starbound Glory, under the command of Captain Charlotte Thomas. Will add tags as they become relevant. All tags relevant to a particular oneshot will be at the top of each.





	1. Plundering Booty

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

_Tags_ : _Anal_ , _Challenge_ , _DP_ , F _/_ F, _Fingering_ , _MiCD_ , _Oral_ , _Rim_ , _Violence_

 _Summary_ : _Captain_ _Charlotte_ _Anne_ _Thomas_ _and_ _the_ _crew_ _of_ _the_ _Starbound_ _Glory_ _attack_ a _French_ _ship_ _laden_ _with_ _gold_ _and_ _supplies_. _But_ _what_ _Charlotte_ _finds_ _is_ _worth_ _more_ _than_ _gold_.

 _Prompt_ : _Plunder_ _That_ _Booty_ : _Write_ _Pirate_ _Porn_.

_A/N: Not so much PWP as the prompt implies. Hopefully it's enjoyable._

_Plundering_ _Booty_

The salty smell of the ocean wafted over the deck with the breeze, filling the sails and driving the _Starbound_ _Glory_ forward. The fiery haired woman standing on the upper deck next to the helm definitely loved it. This was more than life, this was freedom.

Freedom beyond the constraints of the land, of countries and kings and laws and the societal restraints that restricted her. Free from the corsets and the uncomfortable dresses. Most of all, she was free from the societal disdain and the forced marriage she fled England to get away from.

If they could see her now, they wouldn't recognize her. She was far removed from the enforced daintiness of nobility of only five years ago. Her formerly long, flowing red hair had been cut so short many mistook her for a man. That was fine in her eyes; she was a woman, certainly, but those outside her crew gave more respect to men. Her own figure had bulked up, too, muscles had grown from her time working the ship. The breasts certainly helped to lull people into a false sense of an easy victory.

Until the blade slashed open their throat or pierced their heart.

Then they learned the full extent of who Captain Charlotte Anne Thomas truly was. 

"Captain, there's a ship on the horizon, sailing low in the water," Charlotte's First Mate, Frederick Jackson, stated. He'd been on the ship before her and, according to legends, had been since the ship was the _HMS_ _Narwhal_ of the Royal Navy. "She's flying French colours."

"Ready cannons," Charlotte said impassively. She glanced up at the flag fluttering in the breeze. The bold colours of the French flapped wildly. She smirked knowingly. "Leave it up. False security is worth its weight in the bullion in that ship's holds."

"Very good," Jackson nodded. There was a bit of an evil smile on his lips, not that Charlotte blamed him. He had been through numerous engagements, the French had taken friends from him with a well placed shot. Even the side of his face showed scars from flying splinters. "Very good indeed."

Time seemed to slow down immeasurably as the other ship began moving alongside. The name was emblazoned on the front, _Le_ _Triomphant_ , and Charlotte smirked. The hilarity of what might ensue almost caused a snicker.

 _Triumphant_ _won't_ _be_ _when_ _we_ _finished_ , she thought. She did a simple check as it was moving, seeing her gun ports closed. She nodded at Jackson.

It was a simple, almost nonexistent, movement. Yet, it conveyed much more in the meaning than it could have in words. Jackson turned.

"Cannons! Make ready a chain shot!"

It was like lightning the speed the crew jumped into. Running across the deck, the crash of gunports opening and rolling cannons, the pounding of Charlotte's heart in her chest and the flow of adrenaline coursing through her in anticipation of what was to come next. Even as the realization struck in the eyes of the French sailors, she ran her tongue across her lips.

" _Fire_!" Jackson shouted the order, reverberating through the ship.

Thunder ripped from the _Glory_. The full might of the broadside barrage tore into the unsuspecting _Triomphant_ like the Hammer of Thor, sending her shifting on her port side by a foot as cannonballs plowed through the wood and flesh. Horrid sounds stretched across the water; men screaming in all manners as legs were ripped away from them. The one loaded chain shot whipped through the air, slicing through flesh and bone like nothing was there. It ripped through the main mast of the French ship in an explosion of splinters that cut into bodies, into eyes and blinded them.

The acrid smell of burned gunpowder reached her nose and Charlotte cringed. She loved the life, but that was one part she wasn’t too fond of. Across the water, on the blood soaked wooden deck, men crawled along it, severed legs missing. Bodies trailed intestines from those caught in the chain shot's path. 

Then the mast plummeted, arms struck the water with a splash, lookouts falling to hard landings in the water.

The sounds of her crew firing rifles and the counter-fire from the French ship sounded like someone drumming orders. A few cries erupted from both sides before her people latched onto the other ship and began boarding her. She hurried down, leaving Jackson in command, running across the boarding plank as she drew her sword. Her pistol was heavy against her hip, ready for use at a moment’s notice, and, by now, her gun crew was already reloaded and aiming to disable the _Triomphant’s_ guns the moment they opened. With members of the crew on the opposing ship, it was risky, but Charlotte preferred risk over having the _Starbound_ _Glory_ blown apart.

Her cutlass swept up the front of one of the French crew, blood spraying out from the fileted man as another attempted to strike her down. She deftly avoided the blow, slitting the man’s throat with the blade before she pressed onward. She had her target, her crew had their orders, and everyone was performing exactly as planned.

Sure, people were trying to kill her, but that was beside the point.

One of the French soldiers on the ship tried to swipe at her. She deflected it. The man spit on her, cursed her in French, and struck at her with his own sword. She deflected it again, playing at it being such a hard attempt, taking a lot of her strength. He grinned, slashing at her. She deflected the attack, feigned a stumble, and dropped to her knee. 

The soldier grinned victoriously before Charlotte struck. Her cutlass slashed upwards, catching the man between his legs, a feminine shriek squealed from his lips before he fell to the deck. Blood seeped from his destroyed manhood as Charlotte rose. She slit his throat before moving forward, towards the Captain’s quarters.

She gingerly opened the door. She expected an attack. No self-respecting Captain would give his ship up without a fight, no Captain worth his salt in any navy would sit back and allow this molestation of his command to be without a response. There was a click of a pistol being cocked and she dropped to the deck. A thunderous eruption and a rain of splinters followed her as the gun was fired. She rose, a tempestuous mix of anger and excitement pulsing in her heart as her hand gripped the hilt tighter.

The _Triomphant’s_ Captain shouted something at her in French. “I don’t understand French!”

She pushed the door open, her cutlass in front of her. A woman, clothed in a fancy dress that Charlotte hadn’t seen since her time in the courts around England, sat there, staring at her in a mix of shock and awe. The woman was gorgeous, even as she recoiled in fear. For the first time in a long, long time, Charlotte felt her heart skip just a little at the sight of the woman, but there was something else that needed to be done first. The _Triomphant’s_ Captain stood off to the side.

He shouted something else at her in French and she just shook her head at him. He stabbed at her with his sword and she deflected it. Another attack and she parried again. A third and she realized the man wasn’t about to underestimate her like so many of his compatriots had in the past. She deflected the third attack before slashing at him. He stepped back to avoid it and she lashed out a second time, cutting across his stomach. A red line slowly formed, staining his white shirt. He tried to cut her again, but she danced away, using her flexibility to her advantage. He moved to attack again before Charlotte grabbed her pistol and brought it to bear, firing on him. His head seemed to blow out the back as the ball ripped through his eye. 

He stumbled forward, still swinging his head in some disturbed, living dead attack. Charlotte sidestepped it as he crashed into the wall and slid down.

She shrugged and leaned down, taking the man’s uniform jacket from him, draping it over her shoulder. She stepped over and sat next to the woman, looking over her. The woman recoiled at Charlotte’s touch, as though she was expecting Charlotte to beat her or something.

But that wouldn’t happen.

No, certainly not. Charlotte couldn’t. She may not have been at the receiving end of abuse, but she had been at the receiving end of more than one fist to the face, to the gut, to every part in between. She smiled gently at the woman. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. Do you… speak English?” There was a moment of silence before Charlotte said, “ _Anglais_?”

When the woman spoke, it was with a French accent that made Charlotte swoon. “Yes. I can speak English.” She paused. “Not English?”

It took a moment before Charlotte realized she was commenting on the weakened accent. “Not anymore. But I was at one point.” She rose and offered her hand, “May I offer the beautiful lady a hand?” The other woman took it. “What’s your name?”

“Isolde.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” Charlotte said.

She took a quick look around. The usual things were there. Maps of the ship's course and destination strewn across a table near the back, just in front of the windows; a tea kettle was still steaming off to the side, ornate and decorated with some flowered images; wardrobe of various clothes; and a portrait of Jesus on the Cross.

She sighed. The man had been Spartan in his accommodation, but that didn't matter. The kettle would fetch a decent rate at Barataria Bay. The clothes and maps would pick up a few bits, too, but nothing wholly substantial. The main victory would be the hold. Whatever was down there would be rich enough - at least, she hoped.

She looked back at Isolde. The flowing pink and white dress she wore looked like a flower in bloom, but it accented the blonde hair and blue eyes. Not to mention the softer features and full, plump lips that seemed to yearn to be kissed and caressed.

She turned away. Her hands grabbed her pistol and began reloading it. The task was tedious, but it kept her focused and she needed that right now. The thoughts of what she wanted to do to Isolde were distracting.

The sounds of the battle were dying down as she approached the door. Bloody gargling of the dying came off the deck, but the sounds of swords clanging seemed a distant memory. As she stepped onto the blood soaked deck, her people were lining the remaining French crew up along the ship's port side. 

"Samuel's checking the hold, Captain," one of her crew, Abraham Williams, stated.

Charlotte nodded. Samuel St. Germaine was her Second Mate.

Abraham, on the other hand, was becoming more of a problem. There were many times at their layovers in Barataria Bay that he would be pulled back to the ship by crewmates because he'd been in drunken brawls or attempted to take women against their will. She had forced him to forfeit his earnings of the last haul, had sentenced him to half rations, and stripped him of leaving the _Glory_ in port. None of which seemed to do him any good.

Especially with his eyes sizing Isolde like a piece of meat. Charlotte moved, placing herself in front, in an effort to stop Abraham's glances. She glared Abraham down. 

"That hold is full," Samuel's Barataria French accent came from the hatch. "Got gold, food, looks like some skins and stuff." He stepped onto the deck and towards Charlotte. "Need a bit of time to get it all."

"You have as much time as it takes for another ship to come on the horizon, Samuel," Charlotte nodded. "Abraham, strip the Captain's quarters and stuff them," she nodded towards the French crew, "in there."

"Yes, Captain," Abraham replied, stepping away.

Charlotte turned to Isolde, leading her to the boarding plank. The other woman gingerly stepped up, slowly walking across, each step full of terror. Until Charlotte stepped up, taking her hand, gently guiding her across. Isolde was thankful when she stepped onto the Glory, relief washing over her, the tension in her body disappearing slightly. She reminded Charlotte of her first few times across the planks. 

She led Isolde across the deck to the Captain's quarters. "It's okay. You won't come to harm here." Charlotte waited until Isolde was within before closing the door. She moved across the deck, the Captain's overcoat flowing in the breeze, and back across the planks to the _Triomphant_. Her people were already moving the boxes across and she smiled like a proud parent.

One ran by with clothes, which she recognized as the Captain's, and two more with a long chest. She stopped them, glanced in, and saw stuff from the Captain's quarters within. The grin grew a little wider. She looked towards the door to the quarters, seeing her crew pushing the _Triomphant_ survivors into it, with one noticeably absent.

She wasn't sure how stupid a man had to be to risk life, but whatever the point was, she guaranteed Abraham passed it. Her eyes quickly darted across the deck, trying to find him - giving him that tiny sliver of benefit that maybe he was helping elsewhere. There was no sign of him. She sighed.

"You," she pointed at a man, though she couldn't remember his name, "where's Abraham?"

"He returned to the ship, Captain," the man replied.

Curtly, Charlotte pivoted. Her boots pounded on the deck, indicative of her anger and frustration. If Abraham was where she thought he was, it was the final straw, the last time there would be a moment of leniency from her. And as she dropped down to the _Glory's_ deck, she knew.

The crew seemed to back away, fearful of what would happen as their Captain's eyes burned with a red anger that Satan himself would have envied. Each step towards her quarters brought more anger to her. Her hand reached for her cutlass, her other for the door. She could hear whimpers from Isolde and her blood boiled as she whipped the door open.

The pink and white dress was torn, exposing Isolde's shoulder and right breast, a red handprint had formed on her cheek, and tears were flowing down her cheeks. Abraham had his belt open, pants on his knees, and the look of shock at being found. The sight only served to enrage Charlotte that much more and, as he reached for his sword, she charged.

She gave no quarter. Her blade sliced into his sword hand, severing nerves and tendons, leaving it hanging uselessly. She slashed across, his hardened manhood dropping to the ground before cutting into his other wrist. He screamed girlishly, the shriek echoing across the ship.

She put her cutlass back, grabbing him as he screamed, and pulled him out onto the deck, throwing him down. She kicked him in the stomach, then the face, then she heard a snap from one part of his body. Those crew that were standing on deck stared at the scene before joining.

They didn't need to know the reason, it was plain that he had dishonoured them all. Charlotte stepped back, watching them beat him into a bloody pulp before she waved them off. She motioned two men to pull Abraham off the deck to the edge of the port side.

"I don't even think the depths of the ocean will want you," she cursed. With a push, the two men holding him up let go and he fell, a splash all that acknowledged his end. She twisted sharply. "That ship's not unloading itself!"

She walked back to her quarters. Isolde was still on the bed as Charlotte closed the door. The rapid rush of footsteps gave away Isolde's charge before Charlotte quickly turned to meet her. Despite it, Charlotte was surprised by the puffy faced, teary eyed, smeared makeup face and the hands that pinned her against the door.

Anger permeated Isolde's words as she snapped, "You said you wouldn't hurt me!"

"And I didn't."

"Your crew-"

"It was dealt with, they won't try anything now."

"You're all… _sans_ _scrupules_!" Isolde cursed the words. " _Corsaire_!"

"I like to think I'm unscrupulous," Charlotte said. Before she had a moment to continue, Isolde's lips pushed against hers.

Isolde's lips tasted sweet and felt soft to Charlotte's own. She nibbled on Isolde's body lip, savouring the other woman's taste. Isolde's grip on Charlotte relaxed, then disappeared, her hands dragging along Charlotte's arms, along her front, stopping on her breasts. Charlotte relaxed as hands massaged her and she stared into the deep oceans of Isolde's eyes, not worried she was starting to lose herself within them. Her hands came up behind Isolde, gently slid over the other woman's shoulders, held her close.

Charlotte felt her heart racing. She didn't understand. Not completely. It was hardly her first time - Hell, it wasn't even her tenth time and Isolde wasn't the first woman. Charlotte enjoyed the company of women and only women. But something about Isolde was different.

Charlotte slid her hands from Isolde's shoulders, beginning to untie her dress. She half expected the French woman to pull away, to stop Charlotte, but she didn't. Isolde broke the kiss, taking a long breath as Charlotte finished. The dress slid down, falling off like pink water washing from her.

Charlotte gently pushed Isolde back and turned her around. She took her cutlass and cut the strings of Isolde's corset, which popped as the last was slit. Charlotte's eyes darted down to the voluptuous breasts that bobbed. She began stripping away the undergarments, leaving a mass of clothing on the floor and a very beautiful, naked woman in front of her.

And her sex burned with the yearning and want in a way she hadn't before. Her hands darted to her belt, nearly ripping it and her pants off in haste before her shirt followed. Her tanned arms a sharp contrast to the pale body usually hidden beneath. Isolde didn't seem to care about it, moving up to Charlotte and running her hands across bare skin, along healed scars and a rough patch of skin. Charlotte mirrored her movements, until Isolde slowly kneeled down.

She pushed Charlotte's thighs apart, fingers dancing along the inner thigh before she sucked them. Charlotte shivered, moving around. The lack of control she was experiencing was wonderful, it excited her beyond anything sex had done to her before. And each movement she did towards the bed, Isolde followed.

Then Isolde's lips suckled her clit. Charlotte moaned, running her hands through Isolde's hair. Isolde let go and her thumb rubbed it, then her lips again, tongue darting across it, flicking it. Charlotte nearly spasmed to the bed, falling backwards, legs wide, hands on Isolde's blonde hair, keeping the woman between her legs. Charlotte moaned. Her legs wrapped around Isolde as the other woman's fingers pushed into her.

Charlotte inhaled sharply at the cold fingers moving inside her. After a moment, they warmed quickly enough as the heat built inside Charlotte. Pressure threatened to burst through her, Isolde's fingers working within, her lips, tongue, thumb on her clit. Charlotte's hands left Isolde's head, grabbing the sheets on the bed, clenching them between as her back arched. She grunted and moaned and groaned and twisted and shook. Then she bucked with her climax, a drawn out moan coming from her lips.

Her body shivered and quaked as she dropped to the bed and she motioned for her impromptu lover to climb beside her. Isolde did and Charlotte pulled her around and slid down. She pushed Isolde's legs over her shoulders as she slid back up, planting kisses along Isolde's thigh, caressing the soft skin as she headed towards the inviting lips.

Then the door opened. Jackson stepped in before looking up, "Uh, sorry, Captain." He looked away. "Samuel says the gold and plunder have been removed, but there's quite a bit of the food stores in her. She was heading back to France. There's a ship on the horizon flying British colours, but it's not likely to get here soon."

"Keep unloading. Maintain watch on the British ship," Charlotte said from between Isolde's legs. "If she comes closer, don't hesitate to depart the area for Barataria." She sighed and rose, stepping towards the door.

"Yes, Captain," Jackson said, slipping out and closing it behind him. 

Charlotte locked it and returned to Isolde with a sly, mischievous smile on her lips. "Where were we?" 

Isolde let out a giggle that was so beautiful to Charlotte. She crawled back up between Isolde's legs. She felt Isolde clench, her legs pulling together. Charlotte looked up, over the etiquettely tended blonde hair and into the ocean blue eyes.

"Is this… your first time?" Charlotte asked.

" _Non_. _Absolument_ _pas_ ," Isolde replied. The French rolled off her tongue melodically and Charlotte felt her own legs come together a little. "A servant girl and I."

Charlotte chuckled. She wasn't surprised. Her hands pushed apart Isolde's legs. Her head dipped down between her lover's legs, suckling the hardened, anticipating clit to a moan from Isolde. The French woman was wet, soaking her lips, allowing Charlotte's fingers to move in with no resistance.

Charlotte's tongue went down, flicking along Isolde's taint, down to the rosy pink flower muscle. Her fingers still worked inside, her thumb still rubbing Isolde's nub, and her tongue flicked around her ass. Isolde flinched, the muscle tightening. Charlotte brought her mouth back up, but her free hand pushed fingers into Isolde's rear, to a sharp gasp and a jerk.

" _Jamais_ _fait_ _ça_ _avant_ ," Isolde gasped as Charlotte worked both holes. Each word of French was music to Charlotte; sexy and beautiful, all rolled into one body. "Never… before…"

Isolde's insides pressed against Charlotte. The soft, gentle moans in the sexy French accent only quickening her already racing heart. Charlotte's green eyes glanced up from the lovely view, dancing along quaking stomach and heaving breasts, arching back and gasping beautiful mouth, straight into fluttering eyelids. Then Isolde's head fell backward, out of Charlotte's sight, and muscles seemed to crush Charlotte's fingers.

Isolde's legs wrapped around Charlotte, feet rubbing against her back. Isolde's hips rocked, then a second time, and a third. She grunted, then a long, low moan. Charlotte's fingers were soaked, dripping as she pulled them out. Each slickened inch caused another convulsion.

Charlotte crawled up Isolde's nude form, breasts brushing tantalizingly against her soft skin. Their lips met again. Charlotte could taste the sweet flavours of their love and she felt Isolde's tongue on her lips. She welcomed it, sucked it, savoured its touch against hers. It seemed to last forever and Charlotte welcomed the stop in time. 

Then she flopped over beside Isolde. And landed with a hard thump on the wooden deck. A groan escaped from Charlotte as she clutched her back, sitting up and staring at Isolde.

"It's okay," she assured the other woman. "I'll stay down here."

Isolde giggled. "If this comes often, you'll need a large bed."

Charlotte laughed, then leaned over and kissed her. "I hope it comes a lot."


	2. What Price Survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1786: Chased by a British Empire pirate hunter, Captain Charlotte Thomas and the Starbound Glory are pushed to charging into a storm in a crazy attempt to survive. It’s either that or surrender to the Empire and none of the crew are willing to do that.

_ Tags: Violence _

_ Prompt 2. The Storm of the Century: Have your characters survive against the odds in a raging storm, the likes of which not seen before. _

_ What Price Survival _

September 1786

Water sprayed along the deck of the  _ Starbound Glory _ , showering the men as cannonballs rained down around them. A cannonball tore into the rail on the starboard side. Like tiny knives unleashed from the depths of Hell, splinters cut deep into the flesh of her crew. Wounded men screamed out as they dropped to the deck. One of Charlotte’s sailers clutched his torn and severed kneecap. The British hunter’s forward cannons smoked again as more cannonballs tore into the water around the  _ Glory _ .

Every man aboard the  _ Starbound Glory _ knew the storm ahead was a ship killer, that she would take the  _ Glory _ down to the depths given even half the chance. Even kilometers from the darkening skies, lightning flashing, and thunder crashed overhead. But it didn’t matter. They weren’t going to surrender, not to pirate hunters and certainly not to the British Empire. 

Another cannonball punched into the hull of the  _ Glory _ . It tore through two more of her people and reduced them to bloody mulch as Captain Charlotte Ann Thomas cursed and glanced back over her shoulder, her hand on the helm.

The  _ HMS Royal Sovereign _ was gaining, but the dark skies ahead were closing on them. She just needed to push her ship harder, needed the wind to give them a little boost, a rush forward. She didn’t know who Captained the  _ Sovereign _ , but she doubted they would pursue a pirate ship into the storm. No Captain of the British Empire would do that - Charlotte was just crazy enough to attempt it.

“Captain, are you sure you want to get into that?” Frederick Jackson asked.

Charlotte looked back at her First Mate. “You want to surrender to them?” She looked back at the black clouds ahead. “At least we have a chance in there.”

Her stoic exterior hid her tumultuous emotional mindset. She wasn’t sure they would have a chance in the storm. She  _ needed _ to project confidence.  _ She  _ was the Captain and the  _ Captain _ could not show fear or second guess their orders, least of all with the amount of trust the  _ Glory _ ’s crew had placed on her. They'd followed her after she'd assumed command by running her sword through Captain Keyes for cowardice.

More cannonballs struck the water around them and plumes showered them all again.

The crew needed her at her best! She was the one that walked them into this shit storm of cannon fire. She  _ had _ to lead them out. Though she doubted that. 

She  _ had _ to show them her stalwart stance on the course ahead.

Sharp winds whipped at her face, at her short, fiery red hair, droplets of rain coming with the cold rush of air. The sails billowed and shrunk as the once constant breeze shifted at a whim and cannonballs continued flying at the  _ Glory _ . Death was only inches away as water soaked them from every direction and every near miss from the  _ Sovereign _ .

“At least we’re getting a wash, Captain,” Jackson chuckled. Most would have seen it as psychotic, but she knew better; it was his coping.

Despite herself, she chuckled. The man was calm and cool for someone facing their own potential death, but that was one of the many reasons why she had kept him on as her First Mate. He could keep his head while everyone was dying around him.

“Whoever commands their gun crews are damned efficient,” Charlotte muttered. “Mister Jackson, prepare to secure sails,” Charlotte looked at the sails in the highest sections of the mast. “As soon as we enter the storm’s inner circle, pull them up.”

“That’s risky, Captain,” Jackson stated.

Charlotte didn’t need Jackson to tell her that. There wasn’t a single thing in their entire predicament that wasn’t a massive risk at the moment, but she wasn’t about to stop and let the  _ Sovereign _ catch them. A cannonball whizzed by, missing her by a foot at most, before it slammed into the lower deck. One of her men stumbled around and she was about to give him Hell before she realized that he was missing his head.

“Jesus Christ!” she cursed. Another cannonball shattered the tip of the mast. She looked up and cursed. The topgallant sail wrapped itself over and around the broken tip, the  _ Glory _ pulling hard to starboard. Her helmsman, Gregory Copp, fought with the Helm to try to stabilize it, Charlotte adding her own hands to the fight.

The black clouds overhead opened up with the rain. It pelted Charlotte and soaked her red hair, nearly blinding her in the process. Lightning streaked down like Zeus was shitting all over and thunder crashed like someone was banging a drum to it. She wiped her eyes clear for a second, looking around as water sloshed across the deck.

“You, you, and you!” Charlotte pointed at three crew. The three crew looked at her. “Get up there, get that sail up!”

None of the men hesitated. They grabbed a hold of the rigging and started climbing like their lives depended on it. Their lives  _ did  _ depend on it; they all knew what would happen if the topgallant wasn’t taken care of quickly. Not one of the crew wanted to submerge and drown in this storm.

“This is bad, Cap’n,” Copp groaned against the rolling  _ Glory _ .

“Keep fighting, Mister Copp!” Charlotte ordered through gritted teeth.

She turned to look over her shoulder. The  _ Sovereign _ was turning away, veering to avoid Charlotte’s crazy idea.  _ There’s one good thing _ !  _ Could use more good luck like that about now _ !

“Get the sails up!” Jackson’s voice was barely heard over the rumbling thunder and the deafening rain.

“‘Angels and ministers of grace defend us’,” Charlotte quoted. Jackson looked at her as the rain pelted them both. “We could use some divine assistance.” The sails billowed as her people fought to get them pulled up. “Maintain your course, Mister Copp.”

A gust of wind shook the  _ Glory _ , rolling her further starboard. Several of her crew slid across the rain slickened deck as they fought to carry out her orders. Charlotte’s own feet slid out from under her and she rolled along the deck, crashing into the rail with a painful shriek. The cries of pain from them as they struck objects around the deck barely resonated through the wind howling in the rigging and the whipping sails as the men struggled to get them up. One of the white fabrics disappeared, Samuel St. Germaine barely holding on to the rope. Charlotte could only imagine how bad the rope burns were. He barked something at the men below as Charlotte pulled herself back to the helm to help Copp fight to maintain course.

“Come on you fat, fucking cow!” Copp cursed. Waves crashed against the side of the  _ Glory, _ water drenching men and wood alike. “Come on, you fucking wooden bastard!”

Charlotte grabbed the helm. She pushed it, battling against the storm and the  _ Glory _ itself, as more waves struck the hull. The topgallant fluttered in the wind, taunting her with every motion, as though it knew she wasn’t able to do anything about it, as though it was assisting the storm and the British Empire in trying to sink the  _ Glory _ . There was no sign of the three men she had sent up there to fix it.

But she didn’t have time to ponder.

Another wave slammed into the  _ Glory _ ’s port side, pushing her further to her starboard, water starting to lap into the hull through the cannon ports. Two men disappeared into the blackened water from the deck, another barely caught a rope to keep from joining them. The  _ Glory _ bucked sideways more, water racing through the cannon ports, the men below hastily grabbing buckets and whatever else to start throwing the water off the ship.

“No fucking way am I dying like this! Come on,  _ Glory _ !” Charlotte growled through gritted teeth. “I’ve got a nice blonde in Barataria to get back to!” She looked skyward. “And no fucking God or Devil is taking me right now!”

A wave washed over the upper deck. It crashed down and soaked Charlotte worse than she already was. She sputtered out the sea water as she continued pushing against the helm to get the ship to right itself, knowing it wasn’t likely as long as that topgallant wasn’t fixed and put away. She looked up, trying to see the three men she’d ordered to fix the sail, but turned away as another wave slashed across the deck.

“We’ve got to deal with that fucking topgallant now or we’re going down, Captain!” Jackson cursed from behind her. 

"Fuck that!" Charlotte cried over the torrential downpour.

She stumbled away from the helm. She fell against the rail. A sharp cry of pain erupted from her lips, unintelligible in the whipping and whistling wind. Painfully, she barely pushed herself away from it as the sail at the top of the mast pulled the  _ Glory _ starboard. Water rushed along the deck, splashing against Charlotte as she moved along the slick wood.

She slid down the stairs to the lower deck, almost off the ship. The missing piece of rail glared at her, as though saving her ass was somehow the wrong thing to have done. She grabbed a hold of a flapping piece of the rigging with her left hand, her right grabbing for the boarding axe on her belt.

Something rattled under the deck.

A scream ripped through the howling wind. Then another slammed against the wooden hull, and a third. It took a moment before Charlotte realized it was the sounds of the cannons rolling from the port side to the starboard. It was only a matter of time, she knew, before they would break through the hull and flood the ship faster.

She stared up at the top of the main mast. The topgallant was still caught on its tip. It fluttered, winds howling and pulling at it, dragging the ship to rolling on its starboard side. A piece of the mizzen was pulled off, ripping through the mizzen sail with no resistance.

“She’s coming apart under the stresses, Captain!” Samuel yelled.

“I know!” Charlotte yelled back. 

She swung the axe, slamming it down on the rigging holding the top of the mast. It didn’t slice through, though she didn’t expect it on the first. Another slam of her ax, but the stubborn rope wasn’t breaking. She hacked it a third time, then a fourth. A wave crashed over the deck, as though reminding her what she was trying to save her ship from. Not that she needed that.

“Captain, they’re up there!” one of the men yelled.

She glanced up through squinted eyes and the rain. She saw the movement of the tiny figures high up on the mast, but it was too late. The mizzen mast cracking away was the beginning and, if she didn’t do anything to deal with the topgallant, the entire ship would be rendered immobile and easy picking for the British hunters, if it didn’t outright sink in the storm. She slammed the boarding ax down one last time.

The frayed rope whipped away from her with lightning speed. Part of it whipped back, across her boarding ax, ripping it from her grasp, sending it spiralling away into the waves, disappearing from sight. The sudden yank of the ax from her hand burned her palm and she pulled it back quickly, cradling it against her stomach.

The top of the main mast cracked in a split that rivalled the thunder still raging around them. With a quick break under the raging winds, it tore away. The three men she had sent up there were thrown into the deadly, murderous waves as they flailed wildly. The sail flew off in the raging winds.

With a mighty groan, the ship righted itself.

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit always welcome.


End file.
